


Kintsugi

by weareallmadeofstardust



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I guess there's a little bit of fluff?, Jason Todd-centric, Language, OC is a Villain, Torture, broke my title pattern i guess, cass cain is my QUEEN, come on it's jason, even though she has next to nothing to do in this fic, i feel like a terrible person for a bunch of this wow, i feel like i missed a tag but i can't remember it right now, i hurt jason, jason is forcibly returned to the family, of course there's gonna be language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weareallmadeofstardust/pseuds/weareallmadeofstardust
Summary: Kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing damaged pottery with gold lacquer, so that it is all the more precious for having been broken.





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was meant to be finished a week ago, but I was busy with my school musical, so... oops?  
> There's a stretch in the middle where I'm reeeeally mean to Jason, so tread with caution, I suppose.

Jason had gone to the abandoned hotel on the south side of the Bowery to do surveillance on the new gang he’d been following. Not to jump into fights that weren’t his.

Somehow, that’s exactly what he found himself doing.

The pair of Bats in the middle of the lobby were outnumbered, badly, and although that normally wouldn’t have been a problem, but Red Robin was moving stiffly and Batgirl had a hand pressed to her shoulder, like she’d gotten hit there. They must have been ambushed or something, because he doubted that they’d have gotten overwhelmed by these amateurs. He sighed. Of course they had to be here. Because nothing could ever be easy.

He noted the big man standing in front of them, clearly the leader- and monologuing, really?- and sent a bullet through his wrist and then one knee, watching the blood spray across the grimy floor. He went down, groaning in pain, and Jason smiled grimly. He wasn’t about to bleed out, but it wasn’t gonna tickle.

Eyes snapped towards him, and he half-grinned behind the mask. It was probably wrong of him, to enjoy the fear that thickened as they turned to him, but he hadn’t claimed to be a hero in a long time, let alone a good man.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “I come here hoping to find some info, and what do I get instead? A pair of bats. In my territory. Imagine that.”

“If your quarrel isn’t with us-” one of the men stammered, quaking in his boots. Jason laughed, a low, dark chuckle that he knew could send chills down their spines.

“Oh, no, it’s definitely with you,” he said lightly. “Like I said, my territory.”

He lifted his guns, grin widening even as his voice held steady.

“Anyone who wants out, leave now.”

Then he was moving, dodging the bullets sent his way and returning fire in one smooth movement. Red Robin and Batgirl joined in, a flurry of bo staff and batarangs and fists. The sounds of gunshots echoed through the building, not all of them his own, and he heard a sharp cry of pain from one of the Bats as they fought. 

Jason, for his part, didn’t take any kill shots. Knees, elbows, shoulders, yes- enough to take a thug out of the fight- but not enough to kill. He moved closer, smashing the butt of his gun across a guy’s jaw, and he dropped to the floor.

Red Robin and Batgirl finished with their thugs and straightened, the three of them standing tall among the crooks on the floor. The Replacement was leaning on his bo staff, taking the weight off his right leg, and Blondie had a hand against her shoulder again, blood seeping through her fingers. Other than that, they looked relatively unharmed.

Whatever. It wasn’t what he came for, anyway.

“Thanks,” Batgirl said, pulling a bandage out of her belt. “You really saved our bacon.” She grinned at him, bright and earnest and so _young._

“Bailing out little birds that get in over their heads isn’t in my job description,” he warned, for lack of anything else to say. “I won’t do it twice.”

She shrugged one shoulder flippantly. Red Robin asked, “Are you hurt?”

Jason shook his head and turned away, intent on leaving them to their own devices, but Red Robin’s voice stopped him. “Why’d you do it?”

He paused, shoulders going tense. After a moment, he said, “It wasn’t for you.”

The silence stretched between them like spools of thread unwinding, filling the space. He took a shaking breath.

“It wasn’t for you,” he repeated. Then, more strongly, “I was going for them already. They’re starting to encroach on Crime Alley.”

“Why not just let them kill us?” Red Robin asked, with only the barest hint of curiosity, a halfhearted explanation for the question. They both knew it was more than that.

Jason clenched his jaw beneath the hood. The Replacement continued, “We might have taken them out on our own, at least put a dent in their operations. You wouldn’t have had to get your hands dirty, and we’d be out of your territory without you having to do anything. Why?”

There was another few seconds of quiet, a chasm made of more than the lack of words. After a moment, he lied, “I didn’t want the Bat taking over my case.”

He half turned back towards them. Red Robin’s face was calm, gaze almost calculating, picking apart Jason’s words. Finally he said, “Still, thanks. And there’s always a place for you in the Cave if you want it.”

Jason huffed a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Thanks but no thanks, Replacement. I ain’t part of your happy little family and I don’t want to be. Scram before I change my mind about shooting you.”

“You sort of are part of the family,” Batgirl offered, carefully pressing the bandage to the gash on her arm and looking at him with eyes more serious than he’d expected. “I mean-”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “Don’t bother, Blondie. I’ve heard it all a million times before. You aren’t going to make it any less of a lie.”

He turned back towards the door and started to walk away, leaving the pair of vigilantes behind him. Anger curled thick in his throat, like smoke or dust or blood, and he took a shuddering breath as he slipped out into the street.

He wasn’t their brother. He was just some… shadow. A broken imitation of what could have been, had things been different. He was just around to set things right, to do what others couldn’t. Then he’d be gone, like mist on the wind, leaving no traces behind. 

 

It was, strangely, a full two days later that he heard the soft sound of boots hitting the roof behind him, nearly silent. Jason didn’t bother looking over his shoulder, just took another drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

“You didn’t kill them.”

Batman’s voice was soft and, for once in a long time, not angry. Jason tipped his head back to look at the smoggy gray sky, feeling the wind in his hair.

“Gonna have to be more specific, B. There’s a lot of people I haven’t killed.” _And plenty I have._

“Two days ago,” Batman clarified. “In the hotel.”

“Are we talking your wayward sidekicks or the pathetic goons they were fighting?” Jason breathed out a spiral of smoke into the dark sky, watching as it blew away on the wind. He ignored the looming presence over his shoulder.

“The men,” Batman said, voice heavy with impatience. “Need I describe to you the potentially lethal effects of cigarettes?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to live long enough for smoking to get me.” Jason tossed away the cigarette anyway, ignoring the first half of the statement.

“Why?”

Jason raised one eyebrow, though Batman couldn’t see it. “I literally get shot at every night. I’m going to get a bullet to the head long before lung cancer can kill me.”

Batman stayed silent. Jason didn’t turn, but he could picture him, all imposing and “terror of the night,” lips pressed into a thin line.

He sighed. “I still don’t believe in your shitty moral code. Someone has to do something about Arkham’s revolving door, even if you won’t. My job’s just easier if I don’t have you breathing down my neck at all hours of the day and night.”

There was a moment of silence then, but Jason didn’t bother breaking it, just listened to the sounds of the city all around of them. Eventually, Batman grunted and a moment later, Jason felt his absence. He hadn’t heard him leave. _Of course._

He sighed. He knew he needed to get moving and working and saving, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, feeling the heartbeat of the city in the screech of sirens and the distant sound of screams.

For some reason, he found himself remembering the last time Bruce had told him to quit smoking. He’d been fifteen- just a few months before Ethiopia. They had been fighting. He hadn’t wanted his dad controlling his life; Bruce hadn’t… Bruce hadn’t wanted him to _die._

He pulled out his lighter and lit another cigarette.The smoke burned in the back of his throat.

He sat up on that roof for a long time, despite the ticking clock in the back of his mind that murmured, _People are dying because you’re not there to stop it._

He didn’t move.

Those lives, he knew, would weigh on his conscience later. Still, he stayed until his cigarette was gone, thinking about memories tinted green, the ones that he was just now learning to see again for what they were. Without the nostalgia, without the hate.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. He wasn’t allowed to be the boy ducking his father’s gaze, hoping to hold onto his vices. He was an adult. And he had to be a hero, for those that had never had one.

He flicked away the stub of the cigarette and stood.

* * *

Jason didn’t need to try to hold back a groan when he woke up, his training from both Batman and the League bringing him to awareness quickly and silently even despite the throbbing pain in his skull. He opened his eyes to slits, trying to focus.

His helmet must have been broken, with the seal still around his throat but vision unobscured by the lenses, and whatever blunt force they’d used to crack it was likely also the cause of the headache. They’d left him with the domino mask, but it was unnerving nonetheless.

He was seated in a cold metal chair, wrists cuffed to the arms and ankles to the legs. When he twitched them, chains rattled, and the chair didn’t move- likely welded to the floor. So whoever had nabbed him hadn’t been some ametuer who got the jump on him. He wasn’t expecting them to be, but it would have made things a lot easier.

Jason’s eyes adjusted slowly, getting used to the darkness and the thin seam of light seeping in from beneath the door. His cell was small, no more than ten feet in any dimension, and he was chained in the middle. A quick glance down confirmed that his chair was welded securely to the floor and each of his limbs was chained to both the chair and the floor, because three cheers for redundancy, he guessed?

It didn’t look great, he’d admit, but at least there was light. It chased away the feeling of splinters in his fingertips and mud clogging his throat, made it easier to breathe. 

His internal clock said that he’d been out for a couple of hours, but the air didn’t taste stale. There had to be air flow. He wasn’t going to suffocate here. Good.

Although suffocation wasn’t his biggest problem here.

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t panic, not now, not yet. This wasn’t the first time he’d been kidnapped, and it wasn’t his first time being left in the dark with no one coming for him. This cell didn’t have to be his coffin. He just needed to figure out where he was, and more importantly, who he should expect.

He tried to piece together the events that had led up to this- he’d been out on patrol, he knew, and hadn’t it been a quiet night?- but the fragments kept slipping away from him, like water falling between his fingers.

_Come on. Focus._

He closed his eyes and thought.

He’d been on patrol. He’d gotten… cornered? Ambushed? And then something had hit him across the face, harder than his helmet could protect him from, and he’d blacked out.

They’d been ready for him, he realize. They had known where he was going to be and they had known they wouldn’t beat him in fight no matter how many thugs they had. There wasn’t many people who knew that, and Jason usually knew about them before it could get to this point. 

The door opened suddenly, and Jason went still, pretending to be asleep. Footsteps entered- only one person- and then paused a few feet in front of him.

“You can drop the act, Hood.” He didn’t recognize the voice.

He didn’t particularly want to, but he opened his eyes. The man’s face made his breath catch. It was a member of the gang that he’d taken down _weeks_ ago with Red Robin and Batgirl. No one had seen hide nor hair of him since then.

The man, whose name was actually Jackson Simmons but whose men knew him only as Viper, had a cold look in his eyes. Jason saw, with a shudder of dread that he barely repressed, that he had a crowbar, rusty and held in white-knuckled hands. He swallowed.

When he saw Jason open his eyes and glare at him, Simmons smiled, a knife-sharp thing full of rage. “Very good.”

He began to pace, fingers tightening around the crowbar. There was a maniac glint in his eyes, seeping over into his movements, even as his smile remained cold and lethal. “So, you’re the big bad Red Hood. I’ve gotta say, I expected more from you.”

“Hate to disappoint,” Jason bit back, trying to conceal the rising terror and the way he couldn’t take his eyes off that goddamn crowbar. “You caught me on an off day.”

Simmons’ smile grew. “Perfect.”

Jason forced himself not to shrink back in his chair. He could resist anything a man like Simmons could do to him. He’d trained for this, bled and fought and willed himself to the point that he could take a blow with a grin and a quip. He could withstand torture. But... it was a crowbar.

“You know, he thought we were invincible,” Simmons continued. _He?_ “No one could bring us down. Not the sham that is the GCPD, not the Bat, and not you, some Crime Alley ghost story drenched in blood.”

Jason huffed a bitter laugh at that. Simmons was right on the money with that one, even if he didn’t realize it.

He realized his mistake when the man snarled, “Oh, you think that’s _funny,_ don’t you? You think it’s _funny_ that you ruined my life?”

“The way you ruined my people’s lives?” Jason asked mildly. Simmons hissed, and all of a sudden Jason realized why they called him a viper.

“You _idiot,”_ he said, voice dripping with loathing. “I’m not talking about my job. I’m not talking about the fact that you nearly put a bullet through my head. I’m talking about my brother!”

_Brother… must be Cedric Simmons, he’s the leader of that gang. Put bullets through his knee and wrist._

“I didn’t kill him,” Jason said flatly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Simmons spat. “Word on the street is you’re a Crime Alley brat. You should know as well as anyone the damage infection can do. He’s _gone.”_

Jason glared up at him, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt at that. Why did he care? Both of them were monsters. “And you want me to do what, exactly? Go and drag him from the grave?”

“I don’t want you to do a fucking thing but _suffer,”_ Simmons growled, and the crowbar came towards him.

The blow rattled his bones, fueled by the force of grief and rage, and for a second Jason swore he could taste smoke. He sucked in a harsh breath, but he did not bend.

“I want you to hurt-” another hit- “the same way-” another- “I did!” The crowbar slammed against his collarbone, and he felt something crack. He did not bend.

Simmons was, apparently, getting impatient. He paused briefly, seemingly waiting for a reaction of some sort, before he punched Jason across the face, hard. 

It was actually sort of a relief. Jason knew how to take a punch. That was nothing. He _would not bend._

He tasted blood on his tongue, and it was far too close to the warehouse for comfort. He spat onto the floor, leaving a red smudge, then glared up at Simmons.

“I’m going to kill you,” the man breathed, leaning forwards until his nose was nearly touching Jason’s. “I’m going to kill you slowly and painfully and then hang your body from the rooftops.”

“Good luck with that,” Jason muttered, and was rewarded with another blow.

“You think you’re going to get out of this? You think someone’s going to _save you?”_ Simmons threw his head back and laughed, loud and derisive and shattered with grief but _sane_ at least, and tipped Jason’s chin up with the business end of the crowbar. “No one’s coming. You’re going to bleed out here, and I’m going to enjoy every second.”

Then they were back to the beating, and it started to blur together, a rain of metal and agony. Jason didn’t bother to pay much attention. He was probably going to die here, he knew. If he’d just been able to get to the lockpicks concealed in his jacket sleeves, if it had been anything but a crowbar, he might have made it. But he hadn’t and it was.

No one was coming for him. He knew that. He didn’t bother hoping.

He still didn’t… didn’t want to die. Even if he still wasn’t sure he was alive some days, he didn’t want to die again.

The beating was almost background noise, now, a backdrop to the incessant voice saying _you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die and you never said sorry._ It was indistinct, one blow melting into another, the pain a constant.

Still, he felt it clearly when Simmons jammed the crowbar into his gut.

Jason made an involuntary choking noise as the fresh agony burst like fireworks in his abdomen, hands straining against the cuffs. The metal clattered as Simmons dropped the crowbar on the concrete, turning away. He paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“You killed my brother, Hood.”

It was soft, and quiet, and sort of sad. Jason didn’t look up.

“You killed my brother. So I don’t regret this.”

Simmons turned away, back towards the door. He started to walk out, silhouette outlined against the light, but before he could move another figure appeared. The shadow swept his feet out from under him and knocked him out with one quick blow, cape swirling around them.

Another, smaller figure slipped in beside her, moving straight to Jason with quick, purposeful steps. Green gauntlets reached for him, trailing more gently than he’d expected over his stomach.

“Todd,” he said. “Are you awake?”

“Demonbrat?” Jason groaned.

Damian tutted in displeasure, inspecting his stomach wound. “How severely are you injured?”

“Don’t know,” he said. And then, “He had a crowbar. He had- he had a crowbar.”

Damian paused, just briefly. Glancing down, he sent the crowbar clattering into the shadowed corners of the room with one swift kick and returned to his stomach.

Some sort of panic flickered over his features, and he called, “Cain.”

Black Bat paused in zip tying Simmons and looked up. “Robin?”

“I require your assistance,” was all the kid said, voice carefully neutral. “Have Gordon send a Batmobile to our location and aid me in caring for Todd’s wounds.”

Cass nodded, tying Simmons none too gently and striding over, cape flaring behind her. She pulled something out of her belt and began work on his stomach, directing Damian to the various bumps and breaks all over his body.

“Didn’t,” he panted, tongue thick and dry in his mouth. “Didn’t think,” he tried. He couldn’t seem to get enough breath to speak.

Cass glanced up at him, then smiled faintly, seeing right through him as always. She paused to run her fingers through his hair and press a kiss to his forehead, whispering, “Always come, little brother. Always.”

“Not,” Jason slurred. “Not fam’ly.”

Damian and Cass exchanged a capital-L Look. Jason was too tired to argue, and as he slipped back into blissful unconsciousness, the last thing he felt was Cass gently lifting him into her arms.

 

The first thing that registered was warmth. Then the stiff surface beneath him, and the light against his closed eyes.

He squinted as he opened his eyes, the light too bright and harsh. Alfred was leaning over him, deft fingers on Jason’s stomach.

He glanced up as Jason groaned and smiled that oh-so-familiar smile. “Awake at last, Master Jason?”

“Day?” he croaked.

“One since your unfortunate encounter,” Alfred said, and his voice was so even and kind that it made him remember why he’d missed him so bad, in the years he was away. Bruce had been a figure to hate, Dick one to dismiss- but Alfred, he’d been the one thing from his Robin days that hadn’t been soured by the Pit.

Jason nodded. “Thanks, Alf.”

“I believe Miss Cassandra and Master Damian are those you should thank,” he replied. “Along with Miss Gordon, as she noticed you weren’t following your usual route and located you before too much damage could be done.”

Jason half-nodded, closing his eyes against the glare. Alfred continued, “It was highly irresponsible of you not to activate the distress signal installed in your gear, Master Jason.”

“Didn’t know if they’d come.”

It was raw and real and maybe too honest, but Jason didn’t wish he could take it back. Even as Alfred’s hands stilled.

“Your father has made it clear that you are to be offered assistance if needed,” he said, voice too calm. “Although your siblings would do so without the coaxing.”

“He’s not my father,” Jason mumbled, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He could _feel_ Alfred’s amused, knowing look even with his eyes closed, and he protested, “He’s not.”

“Of course, dear boy,” Alfred agreed, with a tone that said he was just agreeing because he wasn’t about to argue with an invalid. “But our door is always open.”

Jason thought he tried to say something, but before he could figure out what he had slipped back into blissful sleep, and the last thing he remembered was the sensation of safety.

* * *

Jason had thought that coming back to life had been bad. Now he was wondering if he’d ever come back in the first place, because this? This had to be his eternal punishment.

Dick Grayson was in his apartment. Sitting on his counter. Eating his cereal. Wearing half his Nightwing uniform and _Jason’s shirt._

He grinned at Jason, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, mindless of the fact that it was _six-twenty in the fucking morning._ “Morning, Jay,” he chirped.

“Dickface,” Jason said, seriously considering killing him. It had to be better than listening to… whatever this was.

The overgrown child on his countertop grinned, swinging his legs back and forth like he couldn’t keep still. “I crashed here for the night, since it was closer than the Cave. Hope you don’t mind.”

“And you thought it was okay to just invite yourself in? And steal my clothes?” Jason said dryly, moving to pull some eggs out of the fridge for his own breakfast. It was mildly alarming that he’d managed to bypass the security system, unless… Oracle had let him in.

“At least use a bowl, you slob,” he added, turning back to him. “Didn’t Alf teach you anything?”

Dick laughed, sliding off the counter to snag a bowl, spoon and milk and circle back to his original position. “No, I learned it all from B.”

“That explains it,” Jason muttered, swatting his hair from his eyes. “Did you want something from me, or are you just hanging around to eat all my food and steal my shit?”

“Can’t I just want to see my little brother? Does there have to be an ulterior motive?”

“In this family?” Jason said. “Not likely.”

Dick sighed, tossing the empty box of cereal (hadn’t that been half full three hours ago???) into the bin of cardboard to be recycled sitting in the corner. “Okay, that’s fair. I wanted to know if you were coming to Bruce’s birthday party on Saturday.”

Jason paused. There was so much anger and hate that had come between them, a timeline marked in gunshots and severed heads and handcuffs. The missing years. The fighting. The blame. And it was so incredibly _bizarre_ that all of that would lead up to Dick Grayson sitting on his counter at six-thirty on a Wednesday morning, raiding his cabinets.

But there had been love there, too. Love so powerful that it left echoes in his bones, left a shadow that followed his across continents and years and two lives. The kind of love that couldn’t be dismissed no matter _what_ they did. So maybe it did make sense to have his brother visiting at six-thirty on a Wednesday morning, inviting him to their dad’s birthday party.

He’d been given a second chance, he supposed. Better not waste it.

He grinned at Dick, razor-sharp. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed and appreciated!


End file.
